by R. W. Peake
When he saw me, I suppose he could not stop himself from remarking, "Gregarius, at least this time, you're not the one on the stretcher!"
"This time," I agreed, grinning at him despite the grim circumstances, but emboldened by his recognition, I told him, "Take care of this man. He's a hero of the Legions!"
Domitius cursed me roundly, but the medicus assigned to the hospital came and took him away, assuring him that his sagum, serving as his stretcher, would be returned to him. Seeing that we were no longer needed, Lutatius and I turned and left the area, heading for our area.
"You know," he turned to me, "you don't smell very good."
"I know." I was not even angry. "I've heard."
Because this was a marching camp, there were no bathing facilities, so I was reduced to just being rubbed down with olive oil and scraped by the section slave, but not before I attended to my armor. Ultimately, I was forced to unbuckle each piece, then, using boiling hot water, bathe each plate in the scalding liquid while scrubbing with a horsehair brush that I had gotten from someone. Only then was I satisfied; more importantly, so were my comrades. Our tent was noticeably emptier, but we were so absorbed in the series of tasks given to us by our Optio, I know that I, for one, did not have time to dwell on our losses, which I assume was the same for the others. This, as I knew, was no accident; men are kept busy as much as possible immediately after a battle, especially one as bloody as this had been. Despite the complicated relationships I had with some of the men of the First Section, First Century, I was still happier to be back among them than I had been at any time during the previous night and day. Bestia was clearly grieving; I had learned by asking around that he and Dentulus had been close comrades for more than a decade, coming into the First together. Consequently, he was understandably somber and, given our complicated history, I felt awkward approaching him. Besides, I told myself, there are other men he would feel better commiserating with about losing his best friend than me. But very quickly, I realized I missed having Domitius around, so that once we had finished all of our tasks and were allowed the liberty of the camp, I went immediately to the hospital. In this, I was not alone; after a fight like this, at the end of the official day, there is a steady stream of men heading to see their friends, or in some cases, relatives. Domitius was actually not in the main tent, but had been put in one of the three other tents, smaller than the hospital but larger than even the quarters of the Primus Pilus, so it took a fair amount of time to find him. But I finally did, in the middle of a row of men, and I was happy to see that at least on either side of him was Didius to his left and Avitus to his right. Next to Avitus was Mela, but being completely honest, I barely acknowledged his presence, although I did spend some time with Avitus. We were not as close as Domitius and I, but marching beside a man means you will either grow to like him, or loathe him. Fortunately, Avitus was in the former category. He was about two inches shorter than I was, but while his build was slightly larger across the chest and shoulders than a man like my father, who is long and lean, he was not blessed with the same physique as me, for which I can admit now I was secretly thankful. Still, he was a good sort, if somewhat dull, but like every man in the First of the First, he was a formidable fighter in his own right. Once I had checked on him, happy to see that Caecina had been accurate about his wound, I turned to Domitius. His bandage had been changed at this point, the bloodstained bandage replaced, but as he informed me, the physician had been forced to rummage around in the hole in his shoulder, extracting a scrap of his padded undershirt.
"It hurt like Dis," he was telling me, but I tried to point out that he had been fortunate that the physician had managed to find the scrap and fish it out.
However, he was not convinced.
"Maybe," his tone was grumpy, and I recognized he was determined to feel sorry for himself, "but it's just as likely that he missed part of my tunic. I mean," he insisted, looking up at me with an expression that told me he was looking for reassurance, "what if he didn't find everything?"
"Look at me." I tried to soothe him, pointing to my arm. "Yes, he may not be the gentlest, but I'm back to almost as good as new because of him."
Unfortunately, Domitius was not convinced, and he pointed with his good hand to my scabbed arm and said, "That doesn't look 'good as new,'" he retorted. "And you didn't have to worry about anything pushed into the wound like I do!"
"Fine!" I snapped, my patience gone. "You're right! He probably missed something, and the wound is probably going to corrupt! There! Are you satisfied?"
His stricken expression made me feel horrible almost before I finished speaking, and I found myself reaching out with my own good arm to pat him awkwardly.
"I'm sorry, Domitius," I began, but before I could go any farther, he made a sharp chopping motion.
"Stop it!" he interrupted me, but I was not prepared for him to continue. "If you keep calling me Domitius, it'll drive me mad! My name is Titus. Just like yours," he finished softly, and for yet another time, I felt my vision clouding.
"I know your name," I mumbled, "but it just sounds strange to call you by my name."
His laugh was weak, but it was genuine.
"It's not like we have that many names to choose from," he pointed out, and I found myself joining in, laughing at the odd truth of that statement.
We just sat quietly for a time then, and if he was like me, he was trying to block out the sounds of men who had suffered much more severe wounds. When I broke the silence and made some inane comment he did not answer, and I glanced down to see that he had fallen asleep. Checking on Avitus one more time, I left the tent to return to my own, but although there was still some time to go before the call to retire, I collapsed on my cot, not even bothering to take off my boots, and I awoke the next morning in the exact same position.
As normal, we did not break camp the next day, waiting while the Primus Pilus and the other Centurions reorganized the Legion's leadership positions, replacing men who had been lost in the fight. And, although Tiburtinus had made it through the night relatively unharmed – he had sustained a slashing wound across his left arm, just under his shoulder plate, that required a few stitches – we still lost our Optio. It was just after midday, and the remainder of the section was loafing outside our tents, enjoying the sunshine and exchanging tales of the night before, when we saw the Optio approaching. As we jumped to intente, he waved us back to our spots on the ground, and I immediately thought he had an unusual expression on his face. I was not alone, and I exchanged a glance with Lutatius, who shrugged his answer. He looks, I remember thinking, embarrassed, which was so unusual that it was instantly unsettling. Even stranger was that Tiburtinus stood there for a moment, seemingly absorbed in looking at the clump of dirt-crusted grass that had somehow survived being trampled by us to that point, his head down so his face was partially hidden.
"Well, Optio?" Caecina was smiling, but I could sense he was feeling as uneasy as the rest of us. "You look like you have something on your mind, so don't keep us in suspense! What is it?"
The Optio reacted to that, his head coming up sharply and, for an instant, I relaxed because he looked as if he was about to administer a tongue-lashing to Caecina, which was not only a pleasing thought, it was behavior we were more accustomed to than what he was displaying an instant before.
"I'm leaving the Century," he blurted out.
There was a stunned silence, and when I glanced across at where Caecina, Ventidius, and Geta were sitting, I saw that their mouths were hanging open, the shock clear to see, exactly the same emotion I was feeling. Although I do not remember my mouth dropping open, but otherwise, I felt exactly the way they looked.
"But, why?" one of my comrades asked.
"I've been promoted," Tiburtinus replied, but he said it slowly, as if he was trying on the words to see if they fit.
The silence ended as the section shouted in surprise and joy, my voice among them, while all of us who were seated jumped to our feet, a
lthough for some of us it was more a case of pulling ourselves up with a groan because of the aches we were feeling that day; I was one of the slowest. Nevertheless, we crowded around our Optio, offering him our congratulations and throwing questions at him.
"Who's replacing you?"
I do not remember who asked, but we immediately fell silent; as happy as we were for our Optio, the identity of his replacement was in many ways more important. Only later did the fact that before Tiburtinus answered he looked over at me, our eyes meeting in a way I understood was no accident, although I did not know the meaning, did the significance of that glance become clear.
"I don't know exactly," he replied. "All I know is that it's someone from another Cohort."
This was met with universal disapproval; dealing with a new Optio is always a chore, but one not accustomed to the ways of even the Cohort, let alone the Century, meant the adjustment period would be even greater, and in all likelihood, more difficult. Tiburtinus was content to let us go on, bemoaning our own fate, but I realized there was still one thing we had not learned.
"So, where are you going?" I asked him.
I cannot say with any certainty, but I got the sense that he was pleased that someone cared enough to ask.
"I'm heading to the Ninth," he replied. "Hastatus Prior."
"Did they lose anyone?" I was puzzled; the Ninth had not even been involved in the action the night before.
"No, but you know how it is," the Optio said. "Men are being shuffled up the ladder to fill spots in the Centuries that took losses."
That was true, we all knew, and we resumed congratulating our Optio, who was still clearly embarrassed and pleased in equal measure. At the same time, I saw by the expressions of the others that, mingled with the congratulations, was a sense of sympathy that he was going to the worst Cohort in the Legion.
Finally, he waved a hand and said, "Well, I have to go tell the other sections." He turned to go, but just as I was about to resume my seat, he called out, "Pullus, walk with me for a bit."
Naturally, I did as he bid, although I felt the eyes of the rest of the section boring into my back, which I ignored. Joining Tiburtinus I walked beside him the short distance to the Second Section, although he stopped short of their tents. I could not help noticing that when he did, he positioned himself so that his back was to my comrades so that I faced him, meaning I could not avoid seeing Caecina's one-eyed gaze still fixed on us, while the others were talking in an excited manner, their hands moving about as they commented and commiserated with each other on our Optio's departure.
"I wanted to let you know I told the Primus Pilus you were the one who warned us that the savages were about to show up," he began, but I raised a hand to cut him off.
"How do you know it was me?" I replied. "It could have been Domitius. Honestly, I don't remember yelling anything." I shook my head and tried to sound sincere. "I'm almost positive it was Domitius, Optio. You should be telling the Primus Pilus."
I was a bit concerned that Tiburtinus would not appreciate this, but he seemed more amused than anything else.
"Pullus, you're a terrible liar." His tone was more amiable than his words. "And while I'm sure Domitius would appreciate your trying to give him the credit, you forget that your voice is…distinctive." He smiled at what I knew was an understatement.
He was right, of course, at least about my voice; my parents had constantly been reprimanding me because of my habit of bellowing at the top of my lungs, and as they got bigger, I got louder.
More embarrassed than anything, I did not reply; I just looked down at the ground as he continued, "Anyway, I told the Primus Pilus. Except he already knew."
That prompted me to look back up at him, except now I was not happy at all; in fact, I was the opposite of happy, because in my mind, the fact that Urso knew already indicated that someone in my Century had told him, which I did not view in a positive light at all. Such was my state of mind that it did not occur to me that one of the men in my Century would have a positive motivation to tell Urso about anything I did. Fortunately, at least in this case, my concern was misplaced.
"How?" I asked while my mind was racing through every possible suspect among my comrades. "Who told him before you did?"
"Nobody," his amusement was clear to see, "because he heard you bellowing as well."
"From that far away?" I was surprised, to put it mildly.
"Sounds do travel farther at night," Tiburtinus reminded me, but he grinned as he finished, "Especially when the one doing the bellowing could split rocks with their voice."
Of all the compliments and accolades I have received over the years, this one still ranks as the most unusual, and one that I am not sure was truly meant as a compliment. Nevertheless, I tried to accept it as if it was, mumbling something about doing my duty.
"But that's actually not why I wanted to talk to you." He dropped his voice even lower, but it was the change in tone that was more unsettling. "I have some news that I didn't want to share with the rest of them."
If he had meant to enlighten me about his motives, it did not work, because now I was even more puzzled, but again, I said nothing, hoping he would clear up my confusion.
"As I said, the new Optio is from another Cohort," he began. "But I lied about not knowing who it is. I do know." He paused and then continued, "It's a man from the Fourth Cohort."
That was certainly interesting, yet I still did not understand why he was being so secretive; there were a lot of men in the Fourth.
"The First Century of the Fourth."
Suddenly, I understood, and if I had been paying close attention before, now I was staring intently at him. Still, he did not utter the name right away and I know he was tormenting me.
"So?" I finally broke the silence. "Who is it? Or is that all you're going to tell me?"
He smiled again, but he relented. "Your new Optio is going to be Appius Asinius."
I dimly heard someone gasp, which I suppose was me, but this was such a surprise that it actually caused me to take a physical step back. Although I was still looking at Tiburtinus, I caught a glimpse of Caecina over his shoulder, whose eyes had obviously never left me because now he was making no attempt to hide his interest, staring in our direction.
"Asinius?" I finally managed to get out, but clearly, I did not remember we were still supposed to be whispering, because a look of alarm crossed Tiburtinus' face, and he reached out to grab my arm.
Thankfully, he remembered to grip my upper arm, except it still made me wince as he whispered furiously, "Keep your voice down, idiot! I'm telling you this but I don't want…" He stopped himself before uttering a name, but I knew who he meant. "Anyway, this was for you and you alone, understand? Keep it to yourself."
Frankly, I did not understand why, since the others would learn very soon, but Tiburtinus was unmoved, insisting that I keep it a secret. Naturally, I agreed, although I still had more questions than answers.
"But…why?" I blurted out. "I mean, why Asinius? And how did Ur…the Primus Pilus end up picking someone who's not…?"
I did not finish, but not just because I had no need to do so for our outgoing Optio to understand; I had just been struck by another possible explanation, one that was almost as horrible and certainly as unsettling as if Urso had promoted Caecina himself. What if, I thought miserably, Urso picked Asinius because he was one of Urso's off-the-books men? It was true he had not been present when we had gone on the excursion that ended up with Draxo and the Colapiani revolting, yet that did not necessarily mean anything. Once this possibility hit me, my mind immediately began running in much the same way Domitius and I had been sprinting from our pursuers the night before. Would it not make sense, I wondered, that Urso had purposely excluded Asinius from any activities I was involved in, waiting for the right situation to make me aware that a man I trusted with my life was actually another of his own?
"Did you hear me?"
Startled, I forced my mind back to the
moment, seeing that Tiburtinus was clearly impatient.
"Sorry," I managed. "I was…"
"I don't care what you were thinking about. I can't waste any more time on this; I have a lot to do today. What I said was, talk to Corvinus."
Before I could ask him what that could possibly mean, he sidestepped me and resumed his progress to the next section, leaving me more befuddled than when he had called me away. Not wanting to, I nevertheless returned to my own section, facing the open curiosity of my comrades.
"What was that about?"
The fact that Lutatius asked this made lying to him more problematic than if it had been Caecina; I had come to trust Lutatius, if only because Domitius did so completely, but our Sergeant was standing a couple paces away, making no attempt to hide his interest.
Deciding on the spot that a half-truth was better than a complete lie, I said, "He just wanted to let me know that the Primus Pilus heard me yelling last night."
This actually brought a couple of chuckles from the others, and Lutatius replied, "That's no big news. I heard one of the boys from the Sixth saying they heard you all the way back here." The chuckles turned to laughter as Lutatius finished, "But they thought that it was a cow elk in heat!"
